


The Not Football Game

by yourdykeinshiningarmor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 12th Man, Established Relationship, Funny, I Don't Even Know, I get funny ideas sometimes, M/M, Seattle Seahawks, because I wanted to see what our boys would think, i blame fandom colored glasses, just because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3271361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourdykeinshiningarmor/pseuds/yourdykeinshiningarmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are sent to America for a case. They get to experience Seattle and it's crazy wonderful people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Not Football Game

**Author's Note:**

> So anyone who follows American football knows that today is the Super Bowl and I live in Seahawks country (and am a giant fan besides). And since I now see all things through fandom-colored glasses, I got to wondering what our boys would think of Seattle and the 12th Man. So, yeah, this fic happened in response to that thought. It was quickly put together (and not beta-d) as I wanted it up before the game, so I apologize ahead of time if it is atrocious or there are mistakes. Please feel free to let me know though and I can fix them!
> 
> Per usual, comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are appreciated! Here is my [Tumblr](http://yourdykeinshiningarmor.tumblr.com/) if you would rather go there. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

John sat on the hard plastic seat of the Light Rail train and stared out the window at the cloudy gray skies, ruminating over the last couple of weeks…

 

Mycroft had called John to convince Sherlock to take a case for him (international smuggling of endangered fish eggs with a dash of murder, blackmail, and espionage).

 

“I guarantee it is at least an eight,” Mycroft had explained. He was currently sitting in John’s chair, twirling his umbrella.

 

“You know I can’t make him do anything he sets his mind against,” he replied, setting a cup of tea on the side table for Mycroft and the coffee table for detective who had resolutely turned his back to the room. When John returned from the kitchen he added, “Even I can’t control the weather,” and he sat in Sherlock’s chair with his own tea.

 

Mycroft thought for a moment. “Pity,” he started, “I suppose I shall have to cancel your accommodations in America then.” He took a sip of his tea.

 

Both men saw Sherlock stiffen slightly, then with the barest tilt of his head he said, “I will consider the case. Send my all you have.”

 

John and Mycroft both smirked, knowing Sherlock had as good as accepted it. Before John knew it, he had packed (for both of them, of course) and was on a plane eventually bound for Seattle, Washington.

 

Sherlock had spent the entire flight over reviewing the case notes and already had several theories by the time they landed. It was late local time and John insisted that they go to the hotel and sleep a bit before swooping down on the local authorities.

 

“You can’t just storm into an unknown police station and start making demands! This isn’t Lestrade or the Met we’re dealing with.” John didn’t fancy spending his first day in America in a jail cell or on the phone to Mycroft.

 

Begrudgingly, Sherlock agreed but John couldn’t get much sleep when the detective insisted on pacing _over_ him on their bed. For once he actually wished they weren’t together so he could go request a separate room without feeling guilty, but John settled for reprimanding the detective. He met a few grumbles but the man eventually settled down in a chair to think the case over.

 

It only took Sherlock three days (and two _very_ patient FBI agents, a local detective with nerves of steel, several miffed highway patrol officers, and copious amounts of apologizing from John) to solve the case. In the end, they had travelled from Seattle to Portland, OR, then up to Vancouver, BC (he couldn’t say that all parties were thrilled about adding yet another jurisdiction to the case), but it culminated in the arrest of the leader and dismantlement of the ring.

 

After the frenzy of the case, the two hardly made it back to the hotel room late on the fourth night before they devoured each other. After the first maid walked in on them mid-session, John buried deep within the detective, he had made sure to place the “Do not disturb” sign on the door and kept it there until they departed. It was two more days of sleeping and resting before the pair left their room again.

 

Mycroft had insisted that they take a small holiday since the case was solved so quickly and had offered to pay for the hotel. John loved the idea and, much to Sherlock’s chagrin, insisted on dragging them to all the touristy places. The first day, they visited the Pike Place Market (where Sherlock calculated the velocities of flying fish), rode to the top of the Space Needle (Sherlock tried to pick the lock of the door to the roof for a “better view”), and rode the Seattle Great Wheel (Sherlock maintained it was ridiculous since they had the London Eye at home). The next day they visited the Woodland Park Zoo (Sherlock assured him he could deduce the animals and they were unhappy) and the Washington Park Arboretum (Sherlock actually enjoyed this!).

 

The doctor had saved what he hoped were the best two places for last. Oh how right and wrong he was.

 

On the third day of outings, John took them to the Experience Music Project. It had several exhibits on science fiction and fantasy classics, even one on Jimi Hendrix coming to London in the sixties. While John had little hope that the pop culture exhibits would interest Sherlock, he was hoping the musical side of the museum would pique his interest. John was having an enjoyable time perusing the exhibits and Sherlock was surprisingly well behaved. He turned his back for just a moment and suddenly there were several security guards rushing past him. He sighed before following them, eventually finding a struggling Sherlock. John had convinced them to let the detective up and to leave the building without pressing any charges (thank God for small miracles) but they were told in no uncertain terms that they were never allowed to visit again.

 

“And what, exactly, were you trying to do?” John had decided a walk back to the hotel would help calm his anger.

 

“I wished to play one of the guitars owned by Kurt Cobain and was in the process of retrieving it from the wall when the guards interrupted me,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

 

John actually stopped where he was and stared. “YOU WHAT?!” He hung his head, fingers reflexively pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just go grabbing exhibits off the wall!” He started walking again, the crowd behind irritated that he was blocking part of the pavement.

 

Needless to say, John remained quite cross with the detective and it took several rounds of apologies (and a round or two of make-up sex) to make the blogger happy again.

 

The last place John wanted to visit was the Pacific Science Center. Initially, things went very well. Sherlock spend the better part of an hour watching the beehive in the Insect Village and explaining (in a remarkable civil manner) the inner working of bees. He even had several kid helpers that promised to share all they had learned from him when John finally made Sherlock move on (it had actually been quite endearing to see him interacting with the children). The pair meandered among the exhibits and activity centers with most of the day was spent in experiments. If he never heard the words “For science, John!” again, he would be a happy man! They ended up in the Tinker Tank in the afternoon where they could build and play with the provided supplies. John was enjoying a bridge building contest with popsicle sticks, string, and glue while Sherlock had segregated himself to a table and was manically working on something. John kept an eye on the detective but wasn’t overly worried; they wouldn’t have anything dangerous here, unlike their flat in London. Where there was a loud bang followed by a muttered “bollocks”, John just hung his head.

 

“Do I even want to know?” he said, not looking away from his project yet.

 

When John didn’t get an answer, he turned to see Sherlock frowning (with considerably less eyebrows) and the volunteer staff struggling to decide what to do. John took pity on them and strode over to the detective. A single glare was enough to cause Sherlock to apologize and quickly clean up the mess he had made. They made a hasty departure after that but at least managed to not be eighty-sixed from the place.

 

Now after three days of nothing to do, Sherlock was in a strop and complaining of boredom. John had taken several walks around the city (both to explore and get away from his maddening partner) but was out of ideas. It was Sunday and Mycroft had booked them a flight for five that evening. After the ninth exclamation of _bored_ that morning, John lost it.

 

“That’s it!” He stomped his way to the chair and began putting on his shoes. “Let’s just go to bloody airport early. At least then I can have a one or few bloody pints while you bloody complain!”

 

Sherlock stilled for a moment; then when he noticed the tension and annoyance simmering in John he decided to simply follow suit.

 

Now they sat here on the Metrolink Light Rail on the way to the airport. John was still ignoring Sherlock, but he was doing an admirable job trying to win back John’s good favor by (quietly) deducing the other passengers. He would whisper (often ridiculous) things about each new person who boarded or someone who departed they hadn’t seen yet. All-in-all John wasn’t mad anymore, but if he could make the man behave for longer by pretending then he wasn’t going to say anything.

 

John turned to Sherlock as the train pulling into the stop for the airport and gave the detective smile.

 

“You realize that I have to spend the next twelve plus hours in close proximity to you with nowhere to go?” He stood and grabbed his bags, following Sherlock off the train.

 

“Yes, John,” the detective replied once they were clear of the doors. “I do apologize for my actions earlier.” They continued to walk towards the terminal. “However, you are aware of my inability to cope with inactivity.” He frowned, not sure how to make the situation better. He didn’t care what anyone else thought or did in regards to him, but he did care about John.

 

“Tell you what,” John said as they waited in the security line. “If you can behave, I’ve got a surprise for you for the flight home.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, trying to deduce what it could be.

 

John laughed. “Don’t even try, I’m not telling or giving it to you unless you behave!” He brandished his finger at the detective for good measure.

 

They made it through security ok (John was thankful Sherlock took some authority seriously) and looked for place to grab a pint and some food. The settled on a sports bar that had a couple tellies with the local sports announcers on. John hoped they would play some sort of match soon, even if it wasn’t the Premier League. They settled into a table and waited for a server.

 

“I know this is obvious but it is so distracting I feel the need to mention it,” Sherlock started, glancing up from his menu. “The people of this city wear an inordinate amount of blue and neon green!”

 

John chuckled. “Yes, they do.” He had noticed this fact soon after they arrived, and, being a bit more aware of culture, had soon learned about the local American football team the Seahawks and the fans that went by the number 12. He supposed he should clarify it to Sherlock but he rather enjoyed watching him piece it all together.

 

“But why, John?” Sherlock whined. He knew it had to do with some sort of organization or sport, many of the people were dressed in uniforms, but had no culture reference for it. The lack of information was infuriating but he was too lazy to find it himself when he knew it would be useless to retain in the long run.

 

John took pity on him. “It’s for the local football team, well the American football team. I hear they are doing well and this how the fans show their support.”

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a bit, trying to understand why so many people would be dressed essentially alike. While Sherlock thought, John took out his book and read a bit. The bar was getting more crowded as time went on and he suspected that a match would be starting soon. When several patrons started yelling and cheering at the telly, John knew he had been right. He put his book away and turned towards the screen; a match was match, even if it wasn’t his favorite sport. It was similar enough to rugby that he could follow the game. He noted absently that the local Seahawks were playing, which explained all the team support they had seen.

 

“These people are ridiculous,” Sherlock said after a particularly loud round of cheering.

 

John has to stifle a laugh at the statement as he had found himself quickly becoming engulfed in the mania of a match. However, it wasn’t until the first quarter was over that he realized _why_ everyone had been so crazy even on the non-game days.

 

“It’s the Super Bowl!” John said.

 

Sherlock looked at John, confusion now mixing with the annoyance on his face. “John, it’s a match, not a giant cup.”

 

“No,” John said. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at he continued, “It’s like the World Cup but for American football.”

 

Sherlock merely stared at John, expression blank. After several moments he replied, “And all this,” he paused to gesture at the rowdy blue and green crowd at the bar, “is necessary?”

 

“Of course,” John said, “that’s half the fun of sport!”

 

“You don’t…,” Sherlock frowned. “Is this what you and Lestrade participate in at the pub?”

 

John simply smiled in response and took a sip of his beer. When another rousing cheer erupted a minute later, he joined in just to see to look on the detective’s face.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You are an absurd man.” Sherlock may have found the enthusiasm, especially the amount shown by these particular Americans, to be a bit bizarre, but when it came to John he found it endearing. He would never acknowledge it, of course, at least not out loud, but he enjoyed seeing John fired up about something. He even smiled a bit when John started muttering curses and encouragements to the players on the telly.

 

The pair sat in companionable silence (minus the occasion grumble) for a while longer before John noticed the time.

 

“We should probably head to the gate,” he said to Sherlock. “You ‘bout done?”

 

Sherlock made one last note in the case file in front of him then closed it. “Yes, John, I am ready.”

 

John flagged down the server and paid the bill. The pair made their way to the gate and arrived just as they announced the boarding call for first class.

 

“Remind me,” John said as they waiting in the boarding line, “to somehow get Mycroft to book us our flights from now on.”

 

“Unlikely, unless it is for a case,” Sherlock replied as he handing his ticket to the attendant. He continued as they walked down the corridor, “Although I could easily knick one of his many cards the next time we need to travel.” A wicked smile crossed his face.

 

John laughed as they continued to shuffle forward towards their seats. It didn’t take them long to get settled, although Sherlock had already mumbled the word “bored” once. John sighed and reached down into his pack. From within he drew out a stack of files and handed them to the detective.

 

“Lestrade said that under no circumstances are you to create an international scene on the way home.” He smirked at the wide-eyed look on Sherlock’s face.

 

Sherlock’s eyes brightened as he took the cold cases from John. “Is this my surprise?”

 

“Yes. Lestrade figured you’d be occupied on the way over but bored on the way back. He wanted to keep me sane and you out of air marshal custody so sent me with those.” He gestured towards the stack. “Said they were mostly brilliant and gruesome murders from the turn of the century. Some have been solved, some haven’t. He mostly wanted to keep you occupied.” He giggled a bit to himself. “Think of it as a sort of consulting detective coloring book.”

 

Sherlock threw John a look of “not amused,” but forwent any comment. John turned back to idly watch the steady stream of people shuffling by, many of them in blue and green. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad about not getting to watch the outcome of the game; he would have to look it up when they got home. John may not care much about American football, but found that he really hoped the Seahawks could pull out a win.

**Author's Note:**

> DIdn't want to jinx anything but you can probably guess who I am rooting for! :-D
> 
> Go Hawks!!


End file.
